


Lomiel

by gloriousmonsters



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU, Eöl is not a quality parent, F/F, Gen, Gender Issues, Genderbending, Unrequited Love, but pronoun wonkiness mainly because, fem!Maeglin is what I'm trying to say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-15
Updated: 2013-10-15
Packaged: 2017-12-29 12:20:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1005379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloriousmonsters/pseuds/gloriousmonsters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are a number of things Maeglin keeps secret; feelings for Idril, memories of the past, and a mother-name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lomiel

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the anon on Tumblr who encouraged me to write a fem!Maeglin AU.

"Maeglin," Idril said thoughtfully, one day, her eyes distant as she stared out the window.

Maeglin despised heights; but Idril had wanted to go up to one of the towers, so they had gone, and Maeglin had quelled the shuddering of his stomach long enough to look out across the city. Now he sat with his back to the wall, and was glad to listen to her talk.  
  
The tone in her voice worried him a little, though.  
  
"If you don’t mind me asking," Idril finally said, "did your mother name you?" Her bare feet tapped against the stone; warm flesh and vein-like silver scars.  
  
His throat tightened. “My father,” he answered, his voice shorter than he had meant. “He named me when I was twelve.”  
  
Maeglin caught himself right afterwards (there were certain things he didn’t say, he couldn’t say, about the years before Gondolin) but Idril was already frowning in confusion - luckily, though, she did not ask why, probably guessing from Maeglin’s taut shoulders that it was a difficult subject.   
  
"All right," she said, her voice barely seeming forced. She was a good actor. "It’s a beautiful day. Would you like to go down to the Markets?"  
  
Maeglin didn’t care much for crowds either, but it was better than heights.   
  
Far better than answering more questions.  
  
~  
  
 _She was twelve, and her father would still not properly look at her, speak to her, had not given her a name. Her father never took her on his trips to see the dwarves, no matter how much she wailed and held out her tiny arms to him, high on his great black horse._  
  
 _"You’re too small," he said, "too fragile," but she could already guess at other things in his words, and other reasons he left her entirely to her mother._  
  
 _When she was twelve and her father was preparing to leave, she slipped away from her mother. When she was twelve, she put on a servant-boy’s clothes; ill-fitting, but good enough, and after a few moment’s confusion, rubbed a handful of dirt in her hair so it looked coarse like her father’s, not silky like her mother’s._  
  
 _She ran outside and grabbed her father’s stirrup, and he looked down at her in surprise._  
  
 _Maybe it was then he decided on the name, when they shared that long look._  
  
 _"You may come," he had said, and the name had come not long after, and Maeglin clung to it with a fierceness that saddened his mother._  
  
 _She had liked him as a her, she told him._  
  
 _But when Maeglin was twelve, Eöl had mattered most._   
  
~  
  
Idril had been careful around him since the day in the tower; too careful, painfully careful, so a few days of awkwardness later Maeglin approached her and showed her down a few levels in the mines, guiding her by safe ways to see the veins of metal he and his House had found.   
  
Here in his element, he worked up enough courage to speak.   
  
"My mother used to tell me stories about Gondolin."  
  
As he had hoped, her face lit up at him volunteering information. “Really?” She was still cautious, her voice warm enough to turn comforting if he needed it. “About… what things?”  
  
"What stories do you usually tell a child?" His throat tightened, but he tried to ignore it. "Stories about how beautiful it was, the people she cared about who lived here, the great King who ruled over everyone… the beautiful princess…"  
  
Idril laughed. Maeglin felt his voice choked off further, and suddenly her presence in the mine seemed oppressive, make it far smaller than it actually was. He stood up quickly.   
  
She glanced up at him, her smile fading. “Are you all right?”  
  
"Fine." He forced a smile. "We should be getting back to the surface, the - ah, the lantern light is running out."  
  
~  
  
 _"So Turgon doesn’t have an heir?"_  
  
 _"No male heir, dear one. He has a daughter."_  
  
 _Maeglin rested his chin atop his hands, leaning on his mother’s chair. “So if I went to Gondolin…” It was almost scary to say the words aloud, but he liked the idea terribly. “I would be in line for the throne.”_  
  
 _Aredhel did not answer; Maeglin saw her lips tighten._  
  
 _"Mother?"_  
  
 _"Maeglin, you -" She turned around and stopped speaking, looking at his distraught face; something in her eyes dimmed. "Yes, perhaps."_  
  
 _"Have I upset you?"_  
  
 _"No."_  
  
 _The next time Eöl left for the dwarves (they had argued, this year, for the second time, and so Maeglin stayed) Maeglin steeled himself and dropped his father-name and boy’s clothes together, pulling from the back of the closet a dress Aredhel had hopefully given her._  
  
 _Her mother was happy. And she did not mind to much being ‘she’ again; but in her mind she played with ideas of a throne and a golden-haired princess, and was not quite content._  
  
~  
  
It was only a matter of time, really, until she found out. Maeglin was careful with everyone else, painstakingly so - but he had let her too close, and she was too kind to not pay much attention to him.   
  
He slept nude, to allow his skin a welcome relief from the heavy clothes and armor he wore almost daily;  and due to his invasive memories the night before, he slept late, and when he woke up she was sitting by his bedside.   
  
Dread and hope made a strange mixture in his stomach; one of them vanished almost completely when he moved, and felt how the blanket had slipped down to his hips.  
  
Idril was sitting very still, teeth making a red indent on her bottom lips, eyes unreadable. Swallowing hard, Maeglin drew the blanket up, and waited for her to speak.  
  
"Can I ask… why?"  
  
"It was easier," Maeglin said, not meeting her eyes. "My father wanted a son. My mother needed a guard. And your father needed an heir."  
  
"But do you really… want to be thought of as a man?"  
  
"I don’t know," she said, feeling her mask slip. "There are… some things I would like to know, before I answered that."  
  
It was remarkably easy to kiss her, with how close they were.   
  
But it was very, very hard to feel her pull away.   
  
"Maeglin -"  
  
Maeglin gathered the dark blanket closer, fists tight around it. “I see.”  
  
"It’s not because of - how you are," Idril said, her face distraught. "I simply don’t -"  
  
"Thank you, princess. I don’t need to hear anymore."   
  
Idril hesitated for a moment more; and for a wild moment Maeglin thought the kiss might be returned. But instead she stood, and with a whispered apology went to the door.   
  
She sat in the dark room alone, then, and gritted her teeth hard and did not cry. And as the sun, nearing noon, finally peirced through her curtains, she swallowed her tears, and put on Maeglin like a suit of armor.  
  
(Her mother-name was for _her_ , after all, and it’s hard to be _her_ anymore.)


End file.
